


Line By Line

by SubwayWolf



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Boss/Employee Relationship, Character Study, Clothed Male Naked Male, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Eating out, First Kiss, First Time, Fondling Through Clothes, Frottage, Jealousy, Men Crying, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Performance masturbation, Polyamory, Power Dynamics, Stripping, Threesome - F/M/M, Undressing, Voyeurism, eating pussy, power display
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6360049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over time, Edward comes to realize that his relationship with Francis started off very personal but grew into something strictly business. Or so it seems.</p><p>Or, <i>five times Edward loves Francis, and one time he is loved in return.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this one was a request!!! One that kind of got out of hand and is going to end up being several chapters long... Nonetheless I just got really excited because I've never written Meechum/Frank before and that's The Good Ship!!!!!!!! He was coming up soon in Comfort Eagle but I got impatient. So here's a multi-chapter fic all about him. 
> 
> Shout-out to [parseltonq](http://parseltonq.tumblr.com/) who had these awesome little ideas that struck my fancy, and a few other parts of me !!!! thanks for the request bro!!!!!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't really a first time if he doesn't touch you, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, so i was about to go to bed after watching like five episodes of Banshee in a row, and then i was like "hmm i should probably write an outline for this fic" and then before I knew it it was 3AM and I'd written chapter one. whoops lmao!

“You gorgeous thing. So and strong and proud, and now you’re a slutty little mess. And all for me.”

Meechum’s ears were ringing.

The rest of the security detail had gone home for the night several hours ago. Meechum wondered if any of them noticed that he was staying late and or knew that he had done so to undress and touch himself at the mercy of their boss. He wondered what they would say, how they would look at him. He wondered if any of them had ever been in this position too.

But he couldn’t think straight enough to worry about that for very long.

With his dominant hand, Edward was stroking and pumping his stiff cock. He’d been hard for a while now and only touched himself when allowed to. His heart was pumping fast and he felt like it was in his throat, he was so nervous. His whole body was hot, every fiber of muscle in him was taut with anticipation. His free hand was underneath one leg in an attempt to spread it a little wider and give a better view of the performance, but his own fingers digging into the bare flesh of his thigh were trembling.

Usually Meechum would do this in the privacy of his own room, with the lights off and a laptop browsing pictures and videos to get him riled up. But as of late he’d been able to use his imagination. Something about this new temp job and something about Frank Underwood made it impossible not to think about him, even by accident, when touching himself late at night.

Right now, there was no need whatsoever for imagination. To ease the nerves, Meechum could have thrown his head back and stared at the ceiling or closed his eyes, but he was looking directly at Frank Underwood, who was sitting at the edge of the bed, fully dressed in a nice suit and tie, patiently watching him.

Underwood was so close. Edward could reach out and touch him, just graze his fingertips along the fabric of his dress slacks, up the length of his thigh. He could beg for permission, but he wouldn’t. He had to hold his breath and practically bite his tongue to stop himself. The thought alone was driving him wild. He felt like passing out.

“Look at you,” Frank cooed like he was fawning over a child. “Your cheeks are blushing pinker than peaches.”

That was probably true. His head was swirling, his cheeks flushed so warm he was probably radiating heat. He was panting, too, breathing rapid to match his heart.

A few more strokes and the tip was leaking pre-come, and the small spurt of it rolled down the head and onto the shaft and transformed into a vulgar sort of lubricant from the friction of his moving hand.

Frank was pleased, and it showed on his face. He wasn’t smug, not at all. But he was certainly enjoying what he was seeing. “Oh, you’re already leaking for me. Looks like you won’t last much longer, huh? Soon you’ll be mewling and making a mess all over yourself.”

Meechum licked his lips. He could come any second, just from this. Just from fondling himself like a cam whore and with a United States Congressman talking him to climax as if they were a pair of porn stars. 

It was almost impossible how quick it all ceased to matter to him. In a handful of minutes he’d been reduced to this, to something so weak. He didn’t want to be weak in front of Mr. Underwood, or at least he _shouldn’t_ want to be. His head knew he shouldn’t be doing this but his body wanted it so desperately.

Unluckily for Edward, Frank never let anyone off so easily. He needed to exercise his way of dominance and control, not verbally or with his hands, but subtly. “Don’t come until I tell you, sweetheart, alright?” he asked sweetly, as if this wasn’t some sort of Herculean task. “I don’t want you making a mess of my clean bed sheets. I just had them laundered.”

Meechum liked to think that he knew Frank well enough already to expect something like this, but he let it take him by surprise anyway. He liked the lack of control. He liked being at the more powerful man’s mercy. He had been waiting for a command like this ever since the first few came – commands like _take a seat_ , _spread your legs_ , _take your dick out_ , and _touch yourself_.

 _Don’t come until I tell you._ That sure sounded like an order – then again, everything did from Frank Underwood’s mouth. But Meechum liked it that way. He liked it so much.

But as he kept on pumping, he found himself feeling more worried than excited, because he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back. To this order, he was going to have to say no. But that word just wouldn’t pass his lips. “Sir…”

Frank placed a hand on Edward’s knee. It was a touch, but not the kind Meechum wanted or needed. That was no doubt deliberate. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just keep at it,” he encouraged. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, I swear.”

There wasn’t much time left at all. Ed’s stomach muscles were contracting, he felt tight and strung out but at the same time so, _so_ weak, like he’d melt from a single touch. “Sir!” His hand was shaking in the loose fist around his own cock.

Underwood removed his touch. His voice was darker now, sterner. “You’d better hold it in, Meechum.”

He wanted to. He always wanted to do what Mr. Underwood told him. But this was different. He felt terrified and sick to his stomach. He didn’t know if he could do this. 

“Yes, sir,” Meechum affirmed anyway. His voice was shaky and he struggled to sound strong. That was practically a promise. Now he couldn’t let Frank down, no matter what.

The weight on the bed shifted. Ed’s eyes were half-lidded and he swore he only blinked for a second before Frank was gone. Meechum suddenly felt so cold and alone, even though he knew Frank was just in the other room, the lack of heat and the silence made him feel like the only man in all of Washington. 

His chest felt empty. The heat in his cheeks kept rising, the excitement between his legs building. His mind was swirling like a drunk galaxy. He wanted eyes on him. He needed attention and care, but most of all he needed direction.

Edward wasn’t sure how much time had passed but it felt like a lifetime. He was ready to explode, his grip was growing numb from overuse and his stiff dick had gone without relief for so long his stomach was starting to ache. 

Part of him wanted relief, but most of him just wanted to see, hear, and smell Frank Underwood again. Possibly, the former demanded the latter.

“Sir, _please_ …” he practically sobbed into the empty room. That cry out into the dark was so weak and pathetic. It sounded like begging because it was. Meechum felt so ashamed. He wished he was stronger and wanted to apologize, but nobody was there to apologize to.

Frank did return though, no doubt on his own volition, since he never sympathized to begging. “Oh, you like attention, do you?” This couldn’t have been the first time he noticed. He approached from across the room, slowly, like a stalking predator. “Do you like to hear my voice? Do you need me to tell you what to do? Do you need an order, Meechum?”

No answer came because Edward couldn’t speak. His lips were parted and wet and almost quivering. He nodded his head, weakly, all of his energy leaving him in favor of frailty and submission.

There was no smile on Underwood’s face. “Finish.”

Ed’s fingers were trembling, he could barely form a tight fist and stroke himself to orgasm. He fumbled for it, trying to gain back the focus and strength, but he’d been so focused on not coming that he didn’t think to ever be allowed to do the exact opposite. He stroked himself out harder, pumping his wrist so quick he could feel his carpals ache from the strain.

Just as quick as Frank had soured, his voice was again sweet and thick like strands of golden honey dribbling right out of his lips. “Good boy. You’re doing so well.”

Meechum’s throat was dry. He had never felt like this before. He was so helpless, but for some reason he fucking loved it. He thrived off of it. He was a trembling mess and he was so close to the edge that moans were already creeping up his throat.

Though Meechum was so dazed he could hardly hear himself, Frank heard the noises of pleasure just fine and was visibly pleased. “Ah, there you go. You look so gorgeous, pumpkin, and you sound so sweet and pretty. Oh, you’re doing so good.” His coaxing was working just as well as if he had a hand out to help. “You’re almost there.”

Meechum was already there. An unbidden whine escaped him as he felt it all flush out of him and the pressure replaced itself with instant, bright pleasure. A few more rapid strokes sent more pumps to shoot out of him but he couldn’t feel it dripping down his shaft or knuckles.

He could feel where the seedy mess had gone. Frank had a tissue in his palm, catching all of it, and just then Meechum could feel the pads of the first finger of a calloused hand under the tip of his hot, pink dick, angling it upwards and stroking just a bit to coax the last of it out and to make sure it all landed where it needed to. 

It was their first touch of that manner. Simple, but it felt divine. It could have been the afterglow, but that light, single-fingered touch felt like the embrace of God.

“Yes, that’s it,” Frank said as he wiped the last of it off of the head of Meechum’s cock. He stood up and tossed the wet tissue into a wastebin near the night stand. “You did so well. Very good, Meechum.”

Edward couldn’t remember ever hearing praise that sounded so sweet, not in all his life. 

He wanted more than anything to hear it again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First kisses and first times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I'm really getting attached to this ship. season four already fucking ruined me and now I have strong ass feelings for this and all of it is about a million times worse on the heart. thanks a lot, guys...

Edward always had the tendency to succumb to his one-track mind, but this was more severe.

Underwood started to consume his thoughts, more than usual. When he wasn’t asked to stay the night, Meechum laid in bed at home and thought about Frank, especially when he was touching himself. It was hard to picture those eyes upon him but his imagination managed on its own, most nights.

But aside from that, he was more or less satisfied. His temp job had been elevated to a permanent position, which meant he got to see Francis more often. And the more he was around, the more often Underwood seemed to want him.

Edward honestly would have been satisfied with just jerking off in Underwood’s bed every night for the rest of his life, _really_. He never got tired of it. Every single time, his hands trembled and his heart beat like a hammer and he came blissfully hard. 

They branched out, too. Sometimes Underwood would help him with his hands, instead of just with his voice. Sometimes Meechum would have the pleasure of using his hands to bring Frank to orgasm. Meechum liked being under Frank’s desk most of all, even though sometimes he was too tall and hit the back of his head on it, but when Underwood spread his legs for him and Meechum was allowed to take him in his mouth, he felt so unequivocally grateful for the opportunity. 

But Edward never allowed himself to desire anything more than that. Of course he was ready to take it to any level Underwood wanted, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up or his heart broken by desiring someone who didn’t reciprocate as strongly or at all.

Their first kiss is what proved those fears to be unfounded. 

It was night, before Edward went home for the evening, and they were alone and the house was silent and the only light was that from the kitchen and the street lamps outside. 

Frank asked beforehand, but it still took Meechum by surprise, as if he didn’t believe it was actually going to happen. He planted a soft one on his cheek, then their bodies got closer, and Meechum leaned down to receive him and their lips met for the first time.

“Was that okay?” Meechum asked the instant Frank pulled back. He fully expected admonishment or a suggestion for improvement.

They were still close. Frank smiled and let out a hum of a laugh. “It sure was,” he said.

Still, in the next handful of kisses that followed, Edward felt distantly uninvolved in the process. 

That was his own fault. Most of his participation was just allowing himself to be kissed. He didn’t have much practice with this and was dead scared of making a wrong move or clashing their teeth together or, worst of all, letting Frank know just how eager he was to do this. He was afraid that if he showed just how hungry for it he truly was, Frank might be turned off. 

But those fears ended up being unfounded as well. And for so long, that was enough, too. It was all he allowed himself to expect. It terrified him and put him on the verge of cardiac arrest every time, but he loved every second of it.

One night, Francis asked him to stay after hours in a very normal way, but somehow it struck Meechum as different. 

“Why don’t you stay tonight, Meechum?” he suggested in passing while he was fixing a drink in the kitchen and Meechum was at his post in the hall. “Claire is still in New York. I’d like some company, if you don’t mind.” 

Meechum had never been asked to stay overnight before. His heart struck up its pace. He kept a straight face, though, and didn’t show any sign that he was relieved or excited about this. “Okay, sir,” he agreed. 

He spent the rest of the shift running scenarios through his mind. He had a million ideas of what he hoped they were going to do and two million possible ways he could think to do something wrong or mess things up. He’d never made a mistake before and of course Underwood would never admonish him if he did, but that didn’t make his anxiety go away.

There was a twist in his gut even as he stood in Underwood’s room, his shoes off at the front door, but still fully clothed. He was waiting for a direction or to be asked a question. He had to focus hard to not give into the temptation to step forward and climb into Underwood’s lap and kiss him. 

Frank had already taken his dress jacket off for the evening but now he was loosening his tie and sitting on the foot of the bed. “Would you like to spend the night with me?” He had only offered before, not asked – not that he really needed to.

Words were coming out of Edward’s mouth faster than he could think them up. “Yes. I will do anything you say, sir. Anything.”

Oddly, Francis appeared disappointed by that. His lips thinned and his brow lowered just slightly, but it was noticeable no matter how subtle the motions were. “I see,” he said through a sigh.

Meechum couldn’t understand why. His stomach sunk. “Did I say something wrong, sir?” If he had, it was about time. He just wished he didn’t mess up too badly.

After loosening the tie off of his neck, Frank undid the knot and tossed it off the bed. He sighed and just sat there, not proceeding to undress any more. His voice was patient. “I hope it doesn’t surprise you to hear, but… I’m interested to know what _you_ want, Meechum.”

Edward wasn’t as surprised to hear this as much as he was deeply flattered, but he couldn’t grasp why this was making Frank distraught. “Sir?” he asked for clarification.

Francis stood from the bed. He took a few steps forward until he and Edward were face-to-face. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable. That you’re happy. That you want this.”

Meechum flushed, both from realization and from having Frank so close. “Yes! I do want this.” He tried not to sound so eager and took a calming breath. “Sir,” he finished.

Frank seemed to accept this response and feel much more comfortable after hearing it. “What do you want?” he inquired. 

Edward looked into his eyes with complete seriousness. If he was trying to be sexy with his implication, it went right over Meechum’s head. He had an answer to the question, but he felt frozen and didn’t say anything. His throat was tight and he could feel his pits growing hot. He clenched his fists at his sides in an effort to relieve some of the pressure, but it wasn’t any use.

Underwood raised an eyebrow. He was patient, but the lack of a response concerned him. “Meechum?”

Edward forced the words out through his tight, constricted throat. “I want you to feel safe. Like I feel safe, when I’m with you.”

Then Francis smiled. It was such a rare sight that Meechum was taken aback, but Francis looked so genuine and pleased that his eyes had a sparkle to them and Meechum’s heart warmed right up. 

Francis reached a hand out and gently touched Meechum’s face. “Oh, Edward, of course I feel safe with you.” He laughed a little to himself. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

 _'Edward'?_ That was a first. Meechum felt a smile spread across his face as well. “Yes, sir,” he agreed.

Gently, Underwood stroked Meechum’s face with the thumb of his hand that was placed there. “Have you ever been with a man?”

Edward tilted his head, nuzzling against the touch. “Yes,” he answered timidly. That wasn’t entirely true – he’d been sexual with men, but he’d never had penetrative sex. His cheeks warmed. “But not like this.”

The hand on his face was shifted up into his hair, stroking him gently. “Then I’ll be careful with you,” Francis promised in a whisper.

It wasn’t the pain Meechum was worried about. Edward knew what to expect and he was more than willing to endure anything just to have Mr. Underwood inside of him. There was a different fear in his gut, one that made it hard to swallow.

Francis was as observant as always. “What’s wrong?” he asked, expression softening into compassion. “If you’re upset or scared, we don’t have to do this. I won’t be mad.”

None of that applied to him. He shook his head gently. “No, I _do_ want to do this, sir. I really do.” After that, he just couldn’t talk again. He was so embarrassed that something as easy as speaking could trip him up like this in front of Mr. Underwood.

Francis removed his hand altogether now. Then he placed it on Edward’s chest, over his heart, fanning his fingers out slightly and pressing just a little against his ribcage. He must have felt Meechum’s elevated heart rate. It was his way of assessing Edward’s emotions when the younger man couldn’t express them aloud. Still, it didn’t take much more than eyes to tell that Edward was scared of something. The touch was added intimacy. 

Francis looked up, lingering his gaze up the buttons of Edward’s white dress shirt, the solid red fabric of his tie, the skin of his neck, across his face, until he met his eyes. “What are you afraid of, Meechum?” he coaxed.

Edward swallowed hard. He felt like the collar of his shirt had tightened somehow. “I’m afraid you won’t like me,” he admitted with a frown.

The concern on Frank’s face washed away again, and soon enough he was smiling. He took a short breath, removed his hand from Meechum’s chest, and then took a few steps back until he was close to the foot of the bed. He gestured loosely with his hand. “Let me see you.”

That was Meechum’s cue to undress himself. After a quick breath to calm his nerves, he did it deliberately and calmly. 

He started with unbuttoning his shirt, going down the line one at a time. His hands weren’t shaking, but his heart was still quick. He took off his dress coat and then removed his shirt, tossing both to the side. He took off his watch and the radio on his belt and his holster and weapon and placed all of them on the dresser behind him. He undid his belt and pulled it out of the loops, and then took off his slacks, stepping out of them and then moving them into the growing pile.

Underwood watched his every move, paying close attention to the details of his finger movements and the way the different fabrics moved against his skin, and he carefully studied the details of Meechum’s body, seeing it in its entirety for the very first time. He didn’t say a word, just sat patiently and watched and waited. 

The only piece of clothing remaining was his underwear, a pair of old, white briefs he probably wouldn’t have worn if he’d known he would have to show them off today. Edward made eye contact with Francis as he did this, even though Francis wasn’t looking at his face. He slid the tips of his fingers under the elastic waistband hugging his hips and began to slowly, teasingly ease them down. He revealed skin and a kitten-soft trail of black hair as slowly and tantalizingly as he could. He watched Underwood lick his lips.

He continued to progress downwards until the band was shifted down over the curve of his ass and off his hips, revealing the most sacred parts of him for Francis to see. He went quicker then, the big reveal now over, and took the underpants off entirely, stepping out of them and then tossing them away as well.

Edward watched Francis’ eyes, trying to gauge his reaction. They had seen each other’s dicks before, but never like this. This was somehow way more intimate. 

Meechum was displaying all of himself. He felt a chill run up his backside and the eyes upon him made him even colder. This was all of him. This was him unarmed and unclothed and helpless.

They were both quiet for a very long time. Then Underwood finally spoke.

“Edward,” Francis began sternly. Then he shook his head as if awed. “You are positively _gorgeous_.”

They spent that night together. It all happened a lot slower than Edward would have thought. He was eased open and lubed up just with Francis’ fingers fucking into him, slow with each push inwards, and Meechum probably could have come just from that. But by the time Frank was putting his dick in him, it was like Edward’s world turned golden. It was drudgery and the pain was unavoidable but with Francis intertwining their fingers together and moving slow and talking him through it, soon enough he was taking all of it with no resistance, loose insides, flushed cheeks, and a lot of breathy whines and moans.

If Edward didn’t love and worship Frank before, he sure did now. Any single being who could make him feel so thoroughly and holistically whole just _had_ to be divine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is a part of the Underwood family now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This tag is dead... I'm all alone here ... where are you guys...
> 
> FYI - This is deadass the first time I've written something nsfw with a woman in it. I dont have that much experience with women so I just wrote the only thing I know that I'm sorta good at with them lmfao I'm so sorry if this sucks, forgive me

Bringing Frank to orgasm was so rewarding. Edward liked it whether he was beside him on the bed and tugging on him with his hand or if his head was between the older man’s legs and he was using his tongue and mouth. He liked looking up and meeting Mr. Underwood’s eyes, watching him throw his head back and part his lips and let out a moan of satisfaction. It was even better when Francis was inside him and orgasmed there, where Edward could take all of him and feel his hands on him and how his body seized up and how quick his heart was. The best part was when Francis kissed him afterwards, or sweet-talked him and called him nice names, and sometimes even let him sleep in the bed. 

But none of that could compare to the satisfaction that bringing Claire to orgasm gave him. It was a way harder to please women, and Edward had always been secretly fond of challenges.

There were very specific things Claire liked, but she never said them explicitly, so it was a lot of trial-and-error. Pleasure for her began in her head. She liked to watch Francis and Edward kiss; the passion and sensuality aroused her. She liked to have her hands on Edward just like Francis did, liked to be in control, liked to finger him and make a whining mess of him. She liked to be eaten out and fingered but not fucked by anyone besides Francis – those were boundaries Edward always respected. 

It didn’t require an outside apparatus to enable her to participate, but toys were brought into the bedroom upon occasion as well. Edward’s favorite was this harness she wore around her waist that could be equipped with dildos of various sizes – in fact, she had just gotten finished fucking Edward with one, the smallest size, just to tease his prostate and open him up a bit before Francis came into the picture.

The two of them were on the bed, Claire sitting up with her back to the pillows with her legs spread, and Edward on his stomach before her. Claire was in one of Francis’ button-down shirts and a bra, while Edward was completely nude. It was little things like this that solidified the power dynamic between them. This separation of power excited all three parties in the equation. The Underwoods liked to be dominant, Edward liked to be submissive. Everything they did stemmed off of that.

Edward had his head between her legs and was using his tongue and lips to please her and draw her to the edge. The wetness of Claire was sweet in his mouth and the fluids were dribbling down his chin. He was using every part of himself to eat her out, even the tip of his nose was wet. His tongue was licking stripes and circles around her lips, sometimes it would break deeper inside of her, and he was just teasing her clit with his tongue and sucking on it a little, drawing out the process and maximizing her pleasure as much as he could. 

Claire put a hand in Edward’s hair and took a light fistful of it, just to have something to hold onto. “You’re so this, Edward. You might be surprised to know that Francis used to do this all the time,” she said breathlessly, obviously meant as a joke to Francis.

Francis was in the room, in a state of undress Edward obviously could not see at the moment, but by the volume of his voice he must have been close to them. “I can still do it!” he fussed, sounding like he was pouting and maybe a little hurt by Claire’s jape. 

Though he found this amusing, Edward was too preoccupied to give his two cents. He barely took time to come up for air, let alone speak.

Ed held onto her thighs as he continued, and she would close them in reflex when he would tease, nudge, suck on, or use his tongue to flick her clit. Her thighs would close around his head, creating a degree of pressure, but he could still hear her panting and soft moaning and he knew he was doing a good job. 

Francis noticed the veritable headlock Claire had him in. “Be careful with the poor boy. You don’t want to snap his neck, do you?”

It was hardly Claire’s intention to hurt Edward, and she wasn’t, but it wasn’t her fault that her body was seizing up like this – the pleasure was coming in waves and her body was just naturally reacting. Yet she did agree with Francis, her voice a little breathless. “Ah, yes – what he needs is a _gentle_ touch. I already opened him up for you, Francis.”

The weight on the bed shifted as Francis climbed on top with them. Meechum could feel body heat behind him and hands being placed on his hips. Edward was already bent over. He just spread his legs a little because he knew what was coming next.

Of course, Francis didn’t do it without warning. “I’m going to enter you, Edward. Let me know if that’s okay.”

Edward didn’t want to stop with Claire so he just removed one of the hand clenching onto Claire’s thigh and have Francis a thumbs-up. 

Francis laughed a little. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Edward whined when Francis entered him, but it came out as more of a hum because his mouth was occupied. Francis filled him up perfectly, sliding all the way into him all at once. He was much bigger than the toy Claire had opened him up with, but Meechum was more than familiar with Frank’s size at this point and he could take it. 

It took a little more coaxing and talent before Claire finally came. All the muscles of her pussy clenched and unclenched in a rapid way, and her legs closed around Edward’s head, and the hand in his hair locked in a tight fist. Her vocal reaction was so soft, just a whisper of a moan, but it was unbidden and it came out of her all at once, and she was so dripping wet as she came that Edward could hardly breathe. 

When Claire spread her legs and allowed Meechum to breathe, he lifted his head and looked up at her with a meek smile. “Was that good, ma’am?”

Claire was still recovering and catching her breath, but she smiled back at him. “Yes, it was.” She took one look at the wet mess all over Edward’s mouth and scooted up and reached for a tissue on the nightstand. “Edward, sweetheart, your face is a mess. Let me clean it up for you.”

Francis, who was still busy fucking into Edward, pulled himself out and left Meechum’s hole cold and empty. “Flip over, Meechum,” he said, and paused to catch his breath a little.

Claire sit up on the bed and crossed her legs. Edward flipped from his stomach onto his back. Claire patted her lap gently. “Put your head right here.” Edward rested his head right on her lap and looked up at her. “There you go,” she said, tissue in hand. “Tilt your chin up a little.”

As Francis lifted Edward’s legs so they latched around his waist, Claire proceeded to wipe off all of the wetness around his cheeks and mouth. Francis fucked into him again, rougher now, and Edward’s cheeks were getting hot and he couldn’t hold back the little moans he was letting out, but Claire just continued to take care of him.

It took some focus, but Edward regained his composure and Claire finished up with the tissue and tossed it to the side. He looked up at her, and she was looking down at him, affectionately, and she started to stroke his cheek and play with his hair a little to relax him. 

Edward was getting stretched out and fucked pretty hard, but his attention was on her right now. His mind started to drift away, as he was dizzy from being fucked and pleasured for so long, and he started to think about the Underwoods.

Claire was so complex, like a puzzle, or like a safe made of diamond that only Francis had the code to. She was so intriguing and amazing and beautiful to Edward. Being drawn to her was just as natural as being drawn to Francis, since the two of them were two parts of a whole that amounted to a level that completely awed and amazed Edward every single day he was with them. 

The two of them, both combined and separately, were something much bigger than Meechum would ever, ever understand. It was like trying to fathom the concept of divine oversight. Edward didn’t want to or need to understand. He just wanted to be a part of what they had. That was enough.

The Underwoods were so good to him. If this was the way he could pay them back and make them feel as happy as they made him feel, then he was more than happy to do it. The fact that they gave him even a sliver of attention surpassed all he ever had the courage to ask of them. 

Any scrap of attention or affection they were willing to give him, no matter how small or how great, Edward lapped it up like he was a starving, obsequious dog. 

Francis and Claire could chill Edward through his bones with a single touch, and they could heat him up just as easily, with no effort at all. They could break him, rule him, and care for him all at once, and he let them. Their attendance and tenderness quaked him to a cavernous conclusion he could not even begin to fathom. 

Francis broke Edward out of his daze with a gruff, tired voice. “You two, you’re just prettier than a picture.” He was obviously contented to see Edward relaxing in Claire’s lap. He was not quiet about how much he enjoyed seeing their polyamorous affection displayed.

Edward looked up at him, taking his eyes off of Claire for the first time in a long while. Francis looked so good grinning and holding him by the thighs and thrusting into him; Meechum was starting to feel light-headed. 

Francis cocked his head a little, pleased with how cute the two of them looked. “I should snap a photo of this and frame it, put it in up the living room,” he suggested, panting. “We’ll let everyone know what a big, happy family we are.”

A pit of excitement twisted Edward’s stomach. _Family?_ He hadn’t heard that word in a long time; he’d hardly even thought of it. A small smile crossed his face, there was no way to hold it back.

Claire stroked Edwards’s hair and looked down at him with a pleased grin. “I see that smile,” she said fondly.

Francis noticed it, too. “You like hearing that, Edward?” he cooed. He pushed into him even deeper, shifting his hips so he rolled upwards and pushed right against his prostate.

Clenching up tight around Francis’ dick, Meechum draped his hands over his stomach and just let himself enjoy this moment of pure bliss. “ _Yes_ , sir,” he exhaled, still smiling.

Francis smiled as well. “You _are_ part of the family.”

Just then, Francis spent into him, filling him up with a huge, thick load of come, thrusting as deep as he could, slamming all the way up his backside and moaning deeply. Edward only had to touch his own dick a little bit before he nutted all over his stomach as well and his body ran white hot with pleasure.

As Francis moved out of him and stumbled across the room to clean himself up, Edward sat up in his seat on the bed. He reached down to feel the hot wet creampie between his legs. It had splattered out between his thighs, a nasty and warm mess of come. He pressed two fingers up his widened hole to feel how much was inside him as well. It was a lot, and it came pouring out when he pushed in.

It wasn’t enough. Edward looked up at Francis across the room with hopeful wide eyes. “Again?”

Both Edward and Francis looked at Claire to see her answer. She gave a small smile and nodded to Frank.

“I’m getting too far old for this,” Francis said with a laugh. But he climbed into bed and joined them nonetheless.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing isn't easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If yall thought I'd write this entire thing without making it angsty, you're dead wrong. It's gonna start getting sad, naturally. I promise I'll make up for it in the last chapter though. Maybe...

Edward loved patrol inside the Underwood residence. It was usually quiet inside, and the place was neat and clean and a perfect temperature, and it smelled like them. Sometimes Claire would pass and brush her hand with his, or Francis would waltz out of the kitchen and hand-feed Edward an apple slice. No matter what was happening, Edward was at peace here, both on shift and off the clock.

As it seemed, the problems inside the residence were not problems at all. To Francis, the issues were of earth-shattering importance, but to Edward, anything that wasn’t a worst-case scenario was easy to take care of.

Edward had done well thus far to become the best silent sentinel he could possibly be. It got to the point where he didn’t retain any information that he was overhearing and only kept his attention on the conversation to make sure Frank was never threatened, verbally or otherwise. 

Other than that, he didn’t pay attention to the inside deals Frank made. Francis did most of it behind closed doors anyway, and anything Edward did hear was more often than not way too complicated for him to wrap his head around, or simply it was boring.

So he had no clue why Doug Stamper was at their door this late at night. While it wasn’t unusual for Doug to be at Frank’s house at any hour, it was odd that he was using the front entrance instead of the back, and it was especially weird that Doug looked so apologetic. Ed didn’t really care to know the former, and he didn’t expect that Francis would bother telling him, but the latter did pique his interest, especially since it was the first emotion aside from anger he’d ever seen on Stamper’s face.

Doug was looking down at his feet and he had his fists balled in his pockets when he asked, “Is the Vice President home?”

Ed snuck a glance back over his shoulder to make sure Francis was still in the kitchen. “Yes. He just got home from the Capitol.” He looked back at Doug, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

Doug looked at him now, not keen to answer the question. “I need to see him.” It was simply put and curt, which was the typical extent of a conversation Ed was used to having with him.

Something about Doug’s body language just wasn’t sitting right with Edward. “Why?” he asked again.

It wasn’t Meechum’s place to know the answer to that, and both of them knew it. “I need to see him,” Doug repeated. His patience was thinning.

Something was wrong about this. Meechum thought he could smell alcohol on Doug’s clothes, but that couldn’t have been from him. Doug didn’t drink anymore, and if he did, coming over to the Underwood residence afterwards was sure to get him a reprimanding of some kind. Nonetheless, it was clear he had just spent time in a bar. With whom was another question.

Edward permitted him inside anyway. He turned inside and said, “Mr. Stamper is here, sir,” but before he’d even finished speaking Doug had stepped around him and walked inside without any affirmation.

Of course, Francis did permit him to enter, as always. “Come in, Doug,” he said from inside. “I’m in the kitchen.” As they went to go talk, Edward resumed his position at the front door. 

It was second nature now, to not listen in. Edward was an expert at tuning out external stimuli that weren’t relevant to keeping Francis safe. All his ears picked up was a drone of din, a fuzz of ambient sound containing no words he bothered to distinguish. He let his mind wander just a bit so that he could bring his attention back at the drop of a hat if he needed to, his attention just out of reach, searching for something to latch onto.

The two of them were speaking for a while, verging on a full ten minutes, until the silence came. If there was one thing Edward learned in his time in the Capitol police and now the Secret Service, it was that silence was just as crucial as sound. Francis had his moments of peace, but not for this long, and not when he had company.

Ed trusted Doug completely, so he wasn’t worried by any means. He was simply curious, and the curiosity grew with every moment the silence continued. The length increased to a minute, and then two, and Meechum just couldn’t stand it anymore. He stepped forward, and peaked around the half-wall separating the rooms to see what was transpiring inside.

A millisecond after Edward leaned forward to see them, he snapped back to his post out of complete dread. Francis and Doug were kissing. Kissing! Full-on making out, right there in the kitchen. Edward’s stomach twisted up inside of him, every nerve was on fire. His cheeks flushed instantly and he felt a little dizzy. 

The image was burned into his vision – Doug with his back to the countertop, his hands grasping handfuls of Francis’ shirt, their lips clashing, their eyes closed, how close they were out of pure desperateness and dependence, the respite and desire and fluency in their entwined expressions – Edward closed his eyes, but he could see it there too.

It hurt, like he’d taken a kick to the gut, like his heart had sunk down to his feet. It hurt, as if he’d just caught his partner cheating, which he knew wasn’t what was happening, because he and Francis weren’t partners and never, ever would be. But it still hurt. It really did.

Edward paused and decided that wouldn’t let this hurt him, he wouldn’t let himself be jealous. It wasn’t so bad. He could forget, and he would forget, especially by the time he was upstairs under the covers, the blankets and sheets and pillows smelling like Francis through constant faint warmth, and he was in Francis’ arms getting claimed and fucked and loved. He was the one who Francis would be with at the end of the night, and Ed just hoped he wouldn’t be able to taste Doug on Francis’ lips.

There was no reason to feel jealous if he was the one Francis would choose in the end. Edward closed his eyes and took a breath. He felt better now.

It lasted until he heard footsteps, a pair of them, one approaching, and one padding up the stairs. The steps up the stairs were lighter, and they weren’t Francis’; Ed had spent enough time with him to recognize the man’s footsteps, and those weren’t his, so they must have been Doug’s.

And the next face he saw was Francis’, looking up at him with a gaze that showed him to be preoccupied with thought of something or someone else. He was startled, and all the fear in him insisted that perhaps Francis had seen him peeking. He prayed that wasn’t the case and didn’t say a word.

Francis didn’t seem upset, though. He was calm. “You can go, Edward,” he said, dismissively, professionally – a tone that Edward hadn’t heard since he’d first joined on with Francis’ detail, a tone he never had any desire to hear again.

All the confusion and guilt and pain returned to Edward in an instant. He did not expect to be dismissed, especially not tonight; Francis had asked him to stay, they had planned the evening a week in advance. Maybe Francis had forgotten? Edward looked at him helplessly. “I thought I was going to stay over tonight. I thought you wanted me to…”

“Not tonight,” Francis responded to the sentence Edward could not finish. If not tonight, then when? It had already been weeks. It was harder now that Francis was becoming especially busy as Vice President, but Edward thought that was when Frank and Claire would need him most. Instead, he felt like he was being pushed to the side.

“But…” Edward swallowed hard, hoping his pride would go down with it. His voice went quieter. “It’s been a long time.” He didn’t mean to sound needy, but he _was_ needy, and weak, and touch-starved, and he wanted to be with Francis right now. He couldn’t wait another second.

Francis stepped closer, close enough that Edward could feel his body heat, but Francis didn’t touch him. “Go home, Meechum. Get some sleep.”

That didn’t make sense, either, because home didn’t feel like Edward’s apartment on the outskirts of the city anymore; home felt like here, with Francis. He didn’t know where to go, what to do, what to think.

They were so close. Edward wanted to reach out, grab him by the shoulders, meet him in a kiss; maybe it would remind Francis of how gentle Edward could be, maybe it would show him that he wanted to help and that he would as best as he can. But his hands stilled, the sickness in his stomach was making even breathing difficult. He couldn’t meet the temptation, but he didn’t want to feel it either, so he tightened his hands into fists and clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the beating of his own heart.

Edward frowned; he couldn’t help himself. “Do you not like me anymore? Did I do something wrong?” He suddenly hated the sound of his own voice, how weak and pathetic it sounded, how close it was to breaking. 

Francis looked at him sincerely, his gaze accompanied with a soft sigh. “Don’t say that. Of course I like you, Edward. And no, you haven’t done anything wrong.” 

Francis’ tone was reassuring, and it was clear he was telling the truth, but Edward couldn’t bring himself to believe him. He had hoped to receive an answer so that he could begin to work on fixing the problem, and he knew there must have been one. Edward just didn’t understand. If it wasn’t those reasons, it had to be something. He need an explanation. He couldn’t be kept in the dark this time, he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t notice or care. He needed to know. 

“But, sir, I…” Ed couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but the look in Francis’ eyes made it seem like he had heard the words spoken in place of silence anyway.

Francis sighed and shook his head briefly in that characteristic way, the way that showed the most dreaded reaction of all: disappointment. His lips thinned as he regarded Edward, frustrated. “I feared this would happen.”

Edward didn’t even want to know what he meant by that. That must have been Francis’ way of scolding him for getting attached, for developing feelings for him. Feelings must have been off-limits, Francis must have expected them to be left at the door, but he’d never told Edward that rule. In all honestly, Meechum wasn’t confident he’d be able to follow that order even if he had received it.

Right now, he hated himself for this. It was true, he did have feelings for Francis, particularly strong ones, undeniable ones, and there was no way to make them go away. It was a side effect of the loyalty, one Doug undeniably experienced as well, and Edward really couldn’t blame him for that. Edward knew this was his own problem. He shouldn’t have been so selfish, shouldn’t have thought that he was the only person in Francis’ life other than Claire. He wasn’t even really surprised that it was Doug, and he wasn’t upset at Doug, either; he was upset at himself, for letting this happen, for developing a weakness when his profession specifically and strictly disallowed anything of the like.

That’s when Edward started to cry. The tears welled up at once, without warning, his throat tightening, his bottom lip quivering so badly that he had to take it between his teeth and bite down. At first it was because of the rejection, but then it was because of himself; he felt so embarrassed for crying, but that only made it more difficult to breathe and relax and hold the tears back. 

And it even got worse than that because all Francis did was put a hand on Edward’s shoulder. It was a touch – both exactly what Edward needed and not at all. It wasn’t intimate, and it was barely affectionate. It felt like pity, and that was more heartbreaking than anything else. Francis wasn’t saying anything. He probably didn’t know what to say, he probably wanted to be upstairs and Edward was keeping him.

It hurt, but he clenched his fists at his sides and tried to hold his breath but tears kept welling up. It hurt, but he tried blinking them away but they just got disturbed by his lashes and started to spill out his eyes instead. He closed his eyes tight, but they just kept coming, no matter how tight he shut them or how stubbornly he struggled to will them away.

“I’m sorry,” Edward choked out, because they were the first words he grew the strength to speak. He opened his eyes, and they were red and irritated and gleaming but he needed to look at Francis while he said this.

Francis lowered his brow a little. He didn’t understand. “For what?”

Having the broken heart was one thing, but showing it to Francis in this way was pathetic and embarrassing and it made it all worse. “For showing you how weak I am.”

The hand on his shoulder moved up to touch Edward’s face, just brushing him gently with the backs of his fingers. Francis took that final step forward, and they were the closest they could be without touching. Francis’ voice was barely above a whisper. “Be stronger.”

It would take time for Edward to learn to follow that advice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy and hatred feed off of each other; Edward has been starving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Edward's opinions of Tom in no way reflect my own lol. Disclaimer 2: this is another sad one i'm sorry, it's just my way of explaining the sad lack of meechum content in s3 by turning it into ANGST

To remain within established boundaries, Edward couldn’t voice his opinion on Doug. Doug was off-limits. But that didn’t really matter, because Ed didn’t mind that Doug was such an integral part of Francis’ life – he’d been around longer that Edward himself had, after all. Doug could be trusted, he was staunchly loyal. He had strange and sometimes unnerving ways of showing it, but it was clear that he loved and revered Francis a lot. Edward respected that about him. So in that case, it was okay. 

Frank and Doug didn’t spend that much time together anyway, not to be intimate, at least. Their relationship was more professional and only deviated occasionally; Francis seemed to be satisfied with this balance, but Doug’s opinion wasn’t as easy to read. So Edward learned to live with it. He learned his place in this hierarchy and acceded it.

Thomas Yates’s presence was not as easy to accept.

Tom didn’t belong here. He was unprofessional. He wore the same three cheap suits every time he showed up, sometimes without washing them, and he always had a strange smell about him like he’d been drinking or he hadn’t slept or showered in a while. He always appeared disheveled, often not even bothering to wear a tie in front of the President. This sort of disrespect was unacceptable, and frankly irritating.

Edward didn’t know him, so he didn’t trust him, which meant he shouldn’t be so close with Francis. And they really were close, for some reason. Maybe Tom reminded Francis of people he used to know back in South Carolina, the backwoods country scum who Francis had risen above so long ago. Other than that, he had no idea what Francis saw in the guy, or why he trusted him enough to get blind drunk with him, or how he could make Francis laugh so hard in the middle of the night that the entire White House seemed to lift up.

It was deeper than that, though. Tom wasn’t just a drinking buddy. He was more intimate with the President; everyone in the administration could tell. And Edward didn’t like that one bit.

When Tom was around, his eyes were always on Francis. His gaze was always filled with starry-eyed awe, or he was in strict observation mode as if cataloging the President’s every move. He also followed Francis everywhere he went, even private places he wasn’t technically allowed. It seemed like every hour of the day, Tom was right at Frank’s heel. Edward did that, too, of course, but it was his job _and_ his pleasure – Tom just padded along out of gross fixation. 

It wasn’t a problem that Tom made Frank happy – Ed was glad to see him laugh and smile; Francis certainly needed it right now. But it was a problem that he was happy with this man in particular, an untrustworthy outsider to the inner circle who was admitted access out of the blue, without thorough vetting. Edward’s job required that he be on high alert all the time, but when Tom was involved, this alertness was coupled with an acid taste in his mouth and stomach that just wouldn’t go away.

Hardest to understand was why Francis get so close with Tom when he could be with Edward instead. Ed was close by all the time, available all the time. He would drink with Francis. He could make Francis laugh. He could be good conversation if he tried. 

Maybe not. It bred self-doubt about his own intellectual ability, about the fear that Francis didn’t like him because he wasn’t as smart as Tom, but none of that frustration stayed in its place. Instead, it transferred outwards, into jealousy, but mostly into contempt.

It didn’t take long for the hatred to bleed out. 

Admittedly, Edward stepped out of line when he told Tom off in the stairway, but as unprofessional as it was, it was necessary. Tom needed to hear the words, he needed to understand that calling Frank a fool, whether in fiction or as a fact, was unacceptable. If Tom was going to waltz in to the inner circle and undeservedly take a place there, the least he could do was show some respect.

Tom had seemed a little offended that Ed had been eavesdropping on them, and Ed was sure Francis would be, too, but when the President was alone with someone Edward didn’t trust, it should have been okay for him to take the liberty to listen in for once. And what he had heard was not just unsavory, but also offensive to a man Edward respected, devoted himself to, and loved.

He expected Tom to receive the message, remember it, and never speak of the incident again. He _didn’t_ expect Tom to rat on him.

It was still a ways off from midnight, but Tom and Frank were already drunk and laughing up a storm in the President’s study. Edward had an hour on his shift and estimated it to go by fast, until he was summoned unexpectedly.

There was a rapping of knuckles and a metal ring on the doorframe, followed by Francis’ voice. “Meechum. Can you come in here for a moment?”

Edward’s heart leapt at once. He paused to make sure he’d heard Francis correctly, then stayed out in the hall for a moment, as if not to seem too eager, even though he really was.

It had been a long while since he’d been called into the President’s study, longer since they’d been together privately, and even longer since they’d fucked - only a handful of times since Frank had took his Presidential oath, all within the first three months. Since then, it was just a matter of Frank being extremely busy. Edward understood; it didn’t upset him that much. Every moment Ed could spend with him was precious; he didn’t take any of their time together for granted. Sometimes just hearing Francis call his name alleviated the pain of neglect and satisfied days of craving.

Then Edward remembered. This wasn’t going to be alone time – Tom Yates was in the study, too. When Ed left his post and walked into the room, it was begrudgingly, no longer excitedly.

Ed opened the door and stepped inside. The first person he saw was Tom, standing behind Francis’ desk, sleepy-eyed and drunk. Edward couldn’t help but shoot him a glare once their gazes locked. Tom showed no animosity in return, probably because he was buzzed, but that didn’t stop disdain from building up in Meechum.

“Edward,” Francis started, “I understand that there was an incident the other day in the stairwell. It seems you have been sticking your nose in places you are not supposed to.” This sounded like admonishment, but not harsh like it was in the military, instead more reasonable as if Francis was a school principal and Edward an unruly student. 

He knew Thomas was smirking, even without looking at him. It was like the air soured. Ed wrinkled up his nose a little and tried not to look guilty.

“You were eavesdropping,” Underwood finished. He glanced at Tom for confirmation. “Isn’t that right, Thomas?”

 _'Thomas'_? Not _'Mr. Yates'_? That asshole was already on a first name basis? Edward was seething. 

After Tom smugly nodded, Francis looked back to Edward. “I don’t want to hear about any more incidents between the two of you, do you understand?”

If Francis or Tom expected an apology right now, neither were going to receive one. With the way he was feeling right now, Ed couldn’t promise not to act up again. He definitely wanted to. But an order was an order. “Yes, sir.”

Tom gave Edward an affable grin. “We’re all friends here, Ed.” When Meechum glared at him, though, Tom’s smile dropped.

“That’s right,” Francis conceded. “Everyone’s on the same level.”

Edward held his tongue.

Francis began a slow circle around his desk, only getting further away when all Edward wanted was the opposite. “I don’t like rivalries within the administration,” he explained as he stalked around the back of the room. “I trust I will only have to say this once in order for you to learn.”

Underwood stopped directly behind Tom, who noticed him too late.

He swept Tom off his feet, bending him over the desk so he was face-down, the side of his face pressed against the wooden surface. An alarmed-sounding “Whoa!” came out of Tom as he lost wind from the impact. He didn’t protest or writhe away, just kept the startled expression and his face and remained flat on his stomach as Francis stood in place behind him.

Francis nudged forward so his hips rested against Tom’s backside. When Tom lifted his head to see what was happening behind him, Francis grabbed him by the hair and shoved his face against the desk. 

Francis’ eyes were fixed on Edward. “If you boys want to employ a hierarchy, I will begin to treat you appropriately. But I’m afraid nobody will enjoy the power shift. Except, perhaps, for me.”

Francis proceeded to grind his hips forward and use his hand to reach between Tom’s legs to fondle him through his pants. Tom was weakening fast, and he spread his legs for Francis and bucked backwards to receive him. A rhythm of paced friction started to build up fast. The tension of all of this frottage being done through clothes added a sour heat to the room. Edward’s collar felt tighter and his stomach contorted inside him.

Briefly, Meechum wondered if this was a test. Maybe Frank was trying to provoke him, get a reaction out of him, push him to intervene and show how he felt. No. If this was a test, Ed wasn’t going to fail. Francis expected the best from him, so Ed was going to give it to him. He stood still, kept his muscles stiff, didn’t intervene or flinch or say a single word.

Or maybe what he wanted was all three of them going at it at once. Ed wasn’t sure he would be up for that. Sharing Francis would not be easy, and Edward couldn’t fathom the thought of sharing with anyone other than Claire, or sometimes Doug, or maybe Seth Grayson. Those were people he trusted. Tom did not fall in that category, and Edward had no interest whatsoever in seeing him naked. Even if asked directly by Francis, Ed wasn’t sure if he could do it.

That was the truth he told himself even as his cock started filling up between his legs. But that wasn’t because of Tom, not at all. It was from watching Francis, watching his hips move and the stiff bulge running down the first nine inches of his pant leg, seeing him grind against the clothed ass in front of him and picturing _himself_ there, imagining how it would feel to have that cock rub up against his own backside or to have those strong hands grabbing into his hipbones, unyielding.

Tom moaned, like he was really getting off from this. His hands were in fists. He had his eyes shut tight, thank god; Edward couldn’t stand to have that man’s gaze meet his, it might have set off a switch in him, put him into attack mode, and Edward needed to maintain composure right now. From where he was standing, Ed couldn’t see if Tom’s pants were tented between his legs but with the way Tom reached down there to aid Francis’ fondling, it was obvious he too was hard as a rock.

Unable to watch any longer, Meechum looked away and made fists of his hands, his fingernails digging into his palms, wishing that it would all stop, that his excitement would die down. But the sounds of friction and panting were the same, along with the smell of sweat.

Tom opened his eyes and looked over at Edward to see his reaction. When he did, he let out a weak laugh, as much as he could pinned under Francis’ weight.

The fist gripping Tom’s hair tightened, causing Tom’s laugh to cut off abruptly. “What are you laughing about?” Francis asked with disinterest.

When Ed finally looked back over at them, he saw the amused grin on Tom’s face and wanted to punch him. “He looks so sad,” Tom explained to Francis.

As observant as Yates claimed to be, this time he was wrong. This was different than before – this wasn’t heartbreak or sadness or jealousy. It was rage.

“Edward.” Francis’ voice was more soothing now, more reassuring, an impressive contrast to his white-knuckled hold and hostile stance. “Though everyone is on the same level in practice, I promise I like you better. I always will.”

With Francis’ attention completely on Meechum now, and a gleam of kindness in his eyes, Edward fell for the words immediately despite his better judgment. Then he forced himself to think about it. Even if what Francis said, was true, _Tom_ was the one with hands on him right now, so Ed didn’t feel any better at all.

Francis kept his eyes on Edward. His voice went husky, not in the drunk way, but the sensual way, the tone that made Edward’s ears ring like bells. “Do you want to stay?”

With a trembling hand Edward reached down to his own tender crotch, resting his palm over the growing bulge there. He kept his eyes on Francis, hopeful, desperate. His throat was tight; it was hard to breathe and he felt like crying.

Francis’ eyes looked black from across the room. He lacked sympathy. “You can watch.”

Then that was his clue to leave. It felt like hands were around his windpipe, so he didn’t answer. He left them alone as quickly as he could and tried not to cry once he got to his post. At least this time, if the tears did come, Francis wouldn’t see them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not for the first time in his life, Edward thinks, _it should have been me_. The only difference is that now is the first time those words truly matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***SEASON 4 SPOILERS IN THIS CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!***
> 
> ^ well... sort of. of course, season 4 episode 4 never really happened, am i right folks? the very last tag in this fic's tag list was very satisfying to add.
> 
> warning #2: dont read this if youre not in the mood for being sad. (i know neurotypicals can bounce back from negative emotions, but neurodivergents like me dont have the luxury!)

Everything was different now. Francis was busy, all the time. The stakes were higher; Edward had to take his job a lot more seriously. Sometimes Francis flew halfway across the world into warzones. Sometimes it felt like the Oval Office was a warzone itself, stinking of mortar rounds and starved deserts. They spent a lot of time in Iowa and New Hampshire campaigning, flying on Air Force one in between, barely having a moment to close their eyes before moving on to the next event.

If Francis had free time, he didn’t spend it with Edward. In fact, they didn’t talk much anymore. Francis had to have needed him and wanted him, but if he did, he didn’t show it. They were in no position to be close and share affection. There was just not enough time.

Being with him became the only thing Edward’s heart wanted, and even though he stood five feet away from the man every single day, he could not have it.

Everything was different now. That truth was undeniable. But it didn’t have to be.

That’s what he thinks, at least, until Lucas Goodwin fires his gun until his six-round clip is empty, and he misses his mark three times, and one tears through Francis’ stomach, and Edward takes two slugs himself.

He doesn’t remember the pain. 

Shock must have taken hold of him in an instant, a guardian angel of a physiological function, because he could see the blood spilling out of him on the asphalt but he doesn’t know if it’s his. Edward fires his weapon at Lucas Goodwin and hit his mark every time. Even from the ground, he has good aim. Back in boot camp and in the Marines, he had good aim. But Lucas Goodwin isn’t a paper target. Edward wants to empty his clip on the man but with each pull of his trigger finger, it becomes harder to grip the gun, to fight the recoil, to pull the trigger again. He doesn’t feel pain. He just feels sleepy.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember the surgery. He doesn’t even know where he is. But that isn’t scary. What is scary is that Francis Underwood isn’t in his line of sight, because he should be, he always should be. 

Once he calms down and the nurses don’t have to pin him to the bed anymore, he’s told of the President’s wounds, told of his failing liver and unconscious state and horrific hallucinations, and Meechum’s only regret is that Francis took a single hit. And so he thinks, _that should be me instead_.

It isn’t the first time in his life he’s thought those words. It’s a thought of pity, one he’d had when his fellow marines were finally able to return home to their families, in a body bag. It’s a thought of jealousy, one that had crossed his mind more recently in the White House, standing outside a door, sounds of sex were muffled from the inside.

This time, it isn’t brave or jealous to think the words. It’s not courageous to want to die. It comes from guilt. It comes from not being fast enough. The shame comes from being the man whose inaction causes the President’s imminent death. 

The thoughts don’t warrant pity. They’re just the simple truth. Edwards knows, clear as day, that _he_ should be the one suffering, not Francis. 

Claire visits. Edward doesn’t understand how she remains so assembled and calm. He’s too exhausted to feel empathy, but he wishes he could, so he could borrow some of her strength. It helps when she sits by his bed and strokes his hair. She doesn’t say much. She doesn’t have tolerance for apologies, no matter that Edward has more than a million to let loose. 

Seth is focused on image, as always – he’s responding to an outpour of sympathies and questions and media pressure. He’s active and working hard, keeping his mind distracted, making sure Francis has privacy and that the White House doesn’t crumble while they’re gone. He visits too, and the distress in his eyes is clear, but he’s staying strong. Edward is grateful for that.

Doug shuts down. He does his job at the White House and comes here to see Francis, and Edward watches his resolve shatter, every day. He’s the one who informs Edward on updates of Francis’ condition. Even reciting the news breaks him. It’s impressive, and really sad, how, when Doug leaves the hospital to return to the work, his expression can shift from broken to stone-faced in the blink of an eye.

Tom Yates doesn’t even show. Edward is too sad to feel bitter about that, but he isn’t surprised either. He hopes that if Francis wakes up – _when_ he wakes up – he will see the people around him and know for sure who really cares, and to whom he truly matters.

They discharge Edward after a few nights, but he doesn’t leave the hospital. It’s agony to walk that short distance down the hall to the elevators. His stitches feel like they are about to burst at the seams. Getting to see Frank will be worth all the pain. Edward clenches his jaw and muscles through it.

Francis has an entire floor to himself, and around-the-clock medical care. When the elevator opens, a security guard moves to stop him, but Edward has his clothes, bleached of all blood stains, in a bag he’s carrying, and he pulls out his Secret Service badge to scare the guard off. The badge probably doesn’t give Edward clearance, but the guard sees the determined look in Meechum’s eyes and doesn’t dare to stop him. 

Francis’ room is very cold. It’s weird to see him on his back like this, dependent on machines, softly breathing into a foggy plastic mask, unresponsive. It’s not scary, just strange. For a man who hates lying down even to sleep, seeing him bound to a bed is very unusual. If Francis knew where he was and how helpless he looked, he wouldn’t be happy, Edward thinks.

Meechum takes a seat and manages to hold back from crying until the give him the room. He’s sobbing, and he can’t even look Francis in the face when he begs, “You need to get better because I can’t do this without you.” He forgets that Frank can’t hear him.

He isn’t allowed to stay for long periods of time, but he comes to visit very often, only leaving to eat and go home to sleep – he wants to sleep in a chair in the hospital room but they don’t let him. The head of the Secret Service knows better than to transfer Edward to Donald Blythe’s detail, so she doesn’t even ask. Even though Francis is incapacitated at the moment, Edward’s job isn’t over. He still has to stay by Francis’ side. No matter what.

Some days, seeing him is hard. His condition gets worse. His eyes open, and it makes Edward’s heart leap every time, but the doctors tell him that Francis doesn’t know what he’s seeing, that he’s still unconscious. It feels good to see his eyes, though.

What Edward wants, more than anything, is to touch him. To take his hand, that’s it. Nothing more than that. He could do it at any time, he supposes, but not when people are around, and a doctor or nurse could walk in at any second, so he keeps his hands to himself, because nobody can know.

When the surgery happens, waiting is absolute agony. Claire is in Germany, but she calls, and she encourages Ed to leave, to take drive, to get some fresh air, but it doesn’t help. His hands shake and he can’t fully grip the steering wheel. His car is a good place to cry, so he does, not because he’s sad, but because he needs to. He cries for a long time, and his body is exhausted by the end of it, and it feels good.

After the surgery, Doug is the first person Francis opens his eyes to see. Edward scolds himself for not being there, but he’s glad that at least someone was.

By the time Edward arrives, Francis is asleep again. He’s taking a lot of medicine, so it’s understandable, but it still makes Ed’s heart sink. He takes his usual seat and waits, and he hopes with all his might that Francis will open his eyes before the doctors make him leave.

Francis does open his eyes. Finally. He reaches for Edward’s hand and squeezes it. 

They touch for the first time in months. They touch, after Meechum had been _certain_ they never would again.

It’s the greatest feeling in the word. Edward is crying before he even realizes it.

“Don’t cry, Meechum,” Francis eases him, even though he’s the one in pain. His voice is weak and soft, but his command holds weight. “I’m right here,” he says.

Words start to spill out like the hot tears do. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I couldn’t protect you.”

Francis smiles. “You’re wrong.” His eyes are shining, lined with prideful tears. “It was you who saved my life. If you hadn’t been there…” He swallows hard. He won’t let himself cry. He stays strong, even in his weakest moments. “You _saved_ me, Edward.” His grip on Edward’s hand is warm and tight.

Edward squeezes back. He will never let go again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still open for prompts! Contact me at [my tumblr](http://subwaywolf.tumblr.com/ask) or my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/subwaywolfy) and tell me what you'd like to see.


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